


We're Gonna Be Okay

by BadWolf303



Series: When Larry Met Freddy [8]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolf303/pseuds/BadWolf303
Summary: Freddy's Captain America flying the god damn plane head first into the sky, bombs going off around him, falling, falling, and reaching out to the only thing he's got right now, the only thing worth protecting.





	We're Gonna Be Okay

Like clockwork, Freddy wakes up gasping for air, sweat covering his shivering skinny body, arms reaching out to grip his sheets. He startles for a moment when he grabs fistfuls of man instead, a man who's reaching out a strong arm to hold him still, to wrap his body around Freddy's damp, trembling one, to whisper, "Hey, I've got you, Freddo. You're good. You're my tough guy, you're okay," in Freddy's ear.

And then Freddy is clinging to Larry, pressing his entire body against the length of Larry's, feeling Larry's erection against his stomach, wrapping his gangly legs around Larry's bulkier frame, grinding himself into Larry's waist not because he needs release, but because he needs to feel Larry, everywhere, here, blood pumping in both of their veins, very much alive, very much still in Freddy's bed.

The room is still dark--it's either really fucking late or really fucking early, not that it ever matters. Freddy can't remember the last time he slept through the fucking night without fear, without pain, without regret, but this is the second time he's waken up with Larry right next to him, and he's scared as fuck he's going to get used to this and then have it all torn the fuck away.

He can barely see the shape of Larry's body in the dark even as he feels every inch of him, his eyes can't seem to adjust, and he presses his lips everywhere they can reach--Larry's neck, Larry's chest, Larry's chin--aiming for his mouth and managing to get the corner of it before Larry reaches out with two strong hands to cup Freddy's face and pull them properly together.

Freddy bites Larry's lip, still shaking, tastes blood, metallic in his mouth, and Larry does not pull away, not until Freddy breaks for air, gasping for it, and Larry holds him, whispering, "We're okay, kid. You're safe. Look at me, Freddy."

Freddy can't make out anything in his dark bedroom--and who knows what's hiding in the fucking shadows, okay? Could be fucking anything. Could be the end of everything, for all Freddy fucking knows.

"Hey!" Larry forgoes whispering for a bark of a shout, and suddenly Freddy can make out the full shape of Larry's eyes, shining brightly. "You hear me? Focus on me and fucking breathe, Freddo, before you give yourself a fucking heart attack."

"I'm sorry, Larry," Freddy gasps, his eyes on Larry but his mind fucking elsewhere, in the shadows of his bedroom and his fucking nightmare. "I'm a cop. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

But, no, that's not right. They've had that conversation already.

Larry is looking at him with concern in his eyes as he strokes Freddy's face, and Freddy frowns down at him, because he's fucking confused, he's still asleep, or, no, he's awake. He's awake and Larry is here and they're both alive.

And Larry loves him. Freddy was blissfully sated and is blissfully full of hamburger and milkshake, because Larry loves him.

Freddy takes a deep breath. "I don't sleep well, man."

To his surprise, Larry fucking laughs. "Understatement of the goddamn century, kid. One of these nights you're gonna deck me with all that fucking flailing."

Freddy would laugh, too, but his eyes are starting to adjust, and he can see Larry's lips, and the line of his broad shoulders, the way his hair isn't combed neatly like usual but sleep mussed and fucking adorable. He can feel Larry's arms around him, can feel Larry's solid chest, his even more solid dick, his fucking thighs.

"I fucking need you," he breathes, and pushes himself onto Larry, catching him off guard and rolling him to his back and climbing on top of him and kissing him hard, grinding without real momentum, jerky, without rhythm, desperate and needy and fucking afraid.

"Wait, wait." Larry keeps stroking Freddy's face--his cheeks, his ears, every place he can reach--pushing Freddy's wet hair out of his face.

Freddy doesn't stop, pressing and rubbing hard against Larry's body. "Please, please." He's practically sobbing.

Larry sits up, and Freddy uses the new position to grind hard into Larry's lap, making Larry groan, as Larry's hands move to Freddy's neck, stroking his hair at the back of it, fingers moving easily over slick skin. "Baby, you can do whatever you need to with me, I ain't stopping you," Larry says, making eye contact with Freddy that Freddy couldn't break even if he wanted to--and he doesn't want to--because there is an intensity to Larry's gaze that Freddy can't turn away from. "But you gotta tell me what the fuck goes on in that head of yours when you sleep," Larry continues, still stroking Freddy's hair, Freddy's face, Freddy's neck. "What does this to you, Freddo?"

"Blood. A lot of fucking blood," Freddy answers without thinking. "And it scares the shit out of me, Larry."

Freddy has stopped his frantic grinding, but he's still in Larry's lap, still pressing their bodies together as close as fucking possible. Larry might be damn near the same height as Freddy, but he's still so much bigger, and Freddy fucking likes that. He likes that the big bulk of Larry could surround him just now, could bury him in skin and muscle and man and Larry.

They've jumped a lot of fucking hurdles the past twenty-four hours, broken a lot of fucking walls, a lot of fucking rules. They're ahead, against all odds, and Freddy's still so fucking terrified of finding out what happens when that kind of luck runs out.

He's so fucking tired of being that gamble.

"We've got a plan now, baby. I'm sure as shit not letting anything happen to you." Larry's got fire in his eyes that burns against the darkness in Freddy's room, but Freddy doesn't take as much stock in a well thought out heist as Larry does. Larry might be a pro at this shit, but Freddy's not exactly an amateur, either.

"Fuck plans, man," Freddy says. "My plan was to take out Joe fucking Cabot. Instead, I fell in fucking love with you. I'm taking us all down, man. I'm gonna burn us all the fuck alive."

"I just fucking said I'm not letting anything happen to you," Larry's bark has a bite in it now, as if he's fucking offended that Freddy could doubt him at his word. Maybe, Freddy thinks, he actually is.

But Freddy doesn't give a flying fuck about that. Not really. He's just a superhero wannabe, a cop who don't know right from wrong anymore, so if he's going down, he fucking well deserves it. He's Captain America flying the god damn plane head first into the sky, bombs going off around him, falling, falling, and reaching out to the only thing he's got right now, the only thing worth protecting.

"Larry, you stupid son of a bitch, the blood is all from you." He's almost angry now, because they've been confessing their sins to each other for over twenty-four hours now, have sought redemption through each others goddamn dicks and mouths and sweaty, desperate bodies, and still Larry doesn't fucking get it. "I fucking love you. I'm throwing my entire fucking career away for you. I've got fucking nothin' left but you. If you die on me--if you die because of me? Don't you fucking get it? I have nightmares of your motherfucking blood everywhere, man!"

He shouts it into Larry's face, into the shadows and empty space of his bedroom, his stupid little apartment with Orange's shit and Freddy's shit and Larry. And Larry looks...well, he looks more fucking stunned than he should, because hasn't Freddy been fucking saying this from the start? Wasn't that the whole point of him being willing to have his brains splattered all over that apartment wall? 

"We have a plan," Larry repeats, slowly, his hands still on Freddy's face, his breath right against Freddy's mouth. "And if you think for one fucking second I'm letting anything happen to this," he gestures between the two of them, in the barely-there space between them, "you're as fucking stupid as you look."

He punctuates that last part with a smirk and a wink, and Larry isn't exactly as steady as he was before Freddy shouted in his face, his eyes are a little glossy, his hands are a little shaky, but he delivers that wink with fucking finesse, and Freddy's jaw drops for a half second before he lets out a wet giggle that's really part sob and buries his face in Larry's neck. Larry's skin is just as warm and damp as Freddy's.

Larry's hands move to Freddy's back, soft and gentle even with their size and strength, which is something Freddy's loved about Larry from the start. The guy is a fucking brick wall, and he could break all your bones if you try and hit him, but if he wants to, if he lets you, he could be the gentlest son of a bitch you've ever known.

"How can we get you to stop being afraid?" Larry whispers in Freddy's ear, before moving his lips down Freddy's neck, making Freddy shiver. "How can I get you to trust we've got this?"

Freddy starts grinding again in Larry's lap. He doesn't have a choice, really. His hips want what they fucking want, and Larry's hands are moving from his back to his ass, soft and strong, and Freddy's heart is still pounding in his chest, his throat, his ears, but his blood is pumping, too, his body is hot from both fear and arousal, from need and desire, from Larry, from fucking being terrified of and fucking needing Larry.

"Say it. I wanna hear you say it," Larry says. "We're gonna be okay. Say the words."

Freddy pulls back a hair to look in Larry's face. Larry's hands are firm on Freddy's backside, moving Freddy harder against him. Freddy's breath stutters, words caught in his throat as he tries to breathe and tries to feel and tries to make Larry fucking feel it, too.

"We're gonna be okay," Larry repeats as Freddy wraps his arms around Larry's neck, moving his hips faster, his eyes fluttering closed, his head falling forward to press his cheek into Larry's. "Say the goddamn words."

"Tell me you love me," Freddy counters, his ears turning pink from something other than arousal and exertion.

"I love you, asshole," Larry says, and Freddy's head falls more, falls below Larry's chin, and his hands move to grab Larry's shoulders, grinding stronger and frantic and fast, as Larry strokes his ass and presses his lips harder against Freddy's ear. "Now say the fucking words."

"We're gonna be okay," Freddy says, then shudders and cries out as he breaks, his body coming apart against Larry's, because of Larry's, his eyes slamming shut and too heavy to open back up as exhaustion hits him like a fucking wave, even as he holds on to Larry with every bit of strength he's got left.

Freddy feels himself falling back asleep, feels himself relaxing against Larry's solid body. Part of him worries that he should wake the fuck back up, to suck Larry off or something to make sure the guy's taken care of, but Larry's pulling the blanket back up over them, relaxing back into the pillows with Freddy still on top, still sticky and damp, as if Larry doesn't give a flying fuck about any of that.

"We're gonna be okay," Freddy says again, the words slurring with sleep.

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is Larry's, "You bet your sweet ass we will be."


End file.
